


Grandmother's House O'Crack

by PreciselyVex (CrashEdit)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Crack, Gen, I'mNotRight, Let's Write Sherlock - Challenge 2, Little Red Riding Hood - Freeform, Offending multiple fandoms now - asking forgiveness later!, With all apologies to the Brothers Grimm, crackitycrackcrackcrack!, fairy tale crack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-16
Updated: 2013-07-16
Packaged: 2017-12-20 08:03:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/884925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrashEdit/pseuds/PreciselyVex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock's sent on a mission to meet up with Grandmother -- a cracklicious fandom retelling of "Little Red Riding Hood"!</p><p>Written for Let's Write Sherlock, Challenge #2:<br/>"Choose a favorite fairy tale and rewrite it with characters from Sherlock."</p><p>**Not Beta'd, Not Britpick'd, read at your own risk!**</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grandmother's House O'Crack

Mycroft had a job for Sherlock, and after weeks of trying to cajole him into doing the right thing for God and Country, his lanky little bro finally relented to take it on, on the condition that Mycroft would agree to cast John’s _actual_ wife to play John’s fictional wife in Season 3. He assented (a decision that would, in turn, signal a series of minor domestic skirmishes within the far-off land of Setlockia), and Sherlock got to work.

It was a mission that had been originally meant for 007, but had required reassignment when he fucked off to New York to star in a Broadway play. Given the mission’s status, Sherlock’s first stop was Q Division, to pick up gadgets and pose languidly with The New Q (because, srsly, can you _imagine_ the gifsets?!).

Q, however, was not in the mood. “James Bond is way better suited for this job.” He snarked, “I mean he’s bigger than you, you know.”

Sherlock got defensive. “I’m taller than he is!”

“Yeah, but Bond’s got, like, muscles, you know? Definition. And he’s got these tiny little blue swim trunks that he wears at the beach. What have you got?”

Sherlock considered the question. “Well, I’ve got neck for days, a voice fit for a dragon and a flatmate who wears red pants on Mondays.”

Q sighed, “It will have to do.” He pulled up a file on his computer. “Okay, quick review of the mission for the newbie – you’re to carry the top-secret files through the heart of Fandom Forest, beyond the fabled lands of Aayohthree and the tumbling hills of, uh, Tumblr, and deliver them safe into the hands of your contact, codename: “Grandmother”.

“Really?” Sherlock asked. “Grandmother? I’m roaming a forest in search of Grandmother? This is the job you didn’t think I was butch enough to handle?”

“Exactly, Sherly. Now,” Q handed him a bundle of fabric. “I want you to try this on – we’re quite proud of this. We’ve actually embedded the top-secret files into the fibers of this coat, so all you need to do is wear the coat and hand it over to Grandmother.”

Sherlock looked at it with distaste. “It’s red.”

“Yeah, it’s red. Very “in” color this year.”

“Not exactly discreet, though, is it? It’s not even a coat. It’s more of a...” Sherlock lifted it up, spreading out the material. “What is this? Like a, a…cape or a poncho of some sort?”

“It’s a cloak!”

“No it isn’t – oh, come on, it’s got a hood!” Sherlock snapped. “I’m not wearing this. Besides, I’ve already got an iconic piece of outerwear.”

“You’re supposed to wear the files on your, you know, person. We worked really hard on this, Sherlock. Come on, please?” Q wheedled, “The tech’s really cutting edge…”

“Okay, listen, here’s what we’ll do: I’ve got this purple shirt, they call it the Purple Shirt of Sex, you know, all caps, because it’s well, sexy and tight. Embed the files in that thing, and instead of wearing your Red…Riding…Hood or whatever, I’ll just wear my standard Purple Shirt of Sex. Deal?

Reluctantly, Q agreed. “Fine. But that means you’ll have to take your shirt off at the end of the story to give it to Grandmother…”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.”

“…which _really_ would have been better with 007, I’m just saying…”

And so the banter continued, until the files were added to the shirt and Sherlock finally set out upon his journey – a journey that was very nearly ended before it began, when a giant fucking stag nearly ran him down at the edge of the forest.

“Are you alright?” asked a dark figure, emerging from behind a tree. “Are you hurt?”

Sherlock shook his head. “No, I’m fine. What the hell was that thing?”

“Not sure. It’s either that Potter brat’s Patronus or just more overwrought dream symbolism from Will Graham. Time will tell, I suppose…”

Sherlock cocked his head. “Hey, I know you! Professor Snape, right?” The other man nodded, modestly. Sherlock pulled out his mobile with excitement. “I actually do a fantastic impression of you – hang on, reception’s crap in the forest – here we go, here’s me doing an impression of you singing “Candle in the Wind” on French and Saunders…”

Snape rolled his eyes. “That sounds nothing like me, Sherlock. It sounds stuffy, like my nose is all stuffed up or something.“

“No, that’s how you sound. I always assumed you had sinus prob-“

“I do NOT have problems with my sinuses.”

“Well, it sounds like you do, is all I’m saying.”

“Well, I don’t.” Snape changed the subject. “What are you doing out in the forest, anyway?”

“Mission for Mycroft. Same old, same old.”

“Oh yeah? Good for you. Nice to do something for your brother.”

Sherlock nodded. Snape exhaled loudly and looked at his shoes, awkwardly.

 “So, uh,” Snape cleared his throat, and tried to strike a casual tone. “Care for a snog?”

Sherlock arched an eyebrow, and stared at him with his curiously bluegraygreen eyes.

Snape shrugged, faux-nonchalantly. “It’s just, our voices are both, you know, and together: I mean, wow, am I right? I’m just talking about a quick one, just fanservice, really…”

Sherlock smiled. “Yeah, okay, Severus. One for the fans,” and he pushed the Professor up against a tree, listening to the rumble of his moans as he kissed down the length of the older man’s throat. Snape’s hands ran through the tangle of Sherlock’s curls and the camera went all blurry until…

Twenty – nah, go ahead, make it thirty – minutes later, Sherlock returned to the forest path, his hair mussed and cupid’s bow mouth swollen, feeling sated and relaxed and ready to continue the mission.

He found the path and moved deeper into the forest. Following his phone’s GPS, he thought he’d be able to make it to Grandmother’s house before dark, but he’d have to get a move on. Of course, it was at this precise moment that a landing party from the U.S.S. Enterprise beamed down, practically on top of him.

“Stardate, 20156.3, we’ve landed on the planet Earth, in the year 2013, after traveling through a wormhole in Sector Seven.”

“Of course they’d show up now…here we go,” Sherlock groaned, bracing himself for the inevitable. “In 3-2…”

“KHAAAAAAAAN!!!”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Right, how many times do we have to go over this, Kirk? I don’t know who this Khan person is, but my name is Sherlock Holmes and no, I don’t know who John Harrison is, eith –“

“KHAAAAAAAAAAAAANNN!”

“Look, clearly this Khan person is of some significance to you, but can we just settle this once and for all th—“

“KHHHHHAAAAAAANNNNNNNN!”

“Okay, fine, this is pointless.” Sherlock let out an exasperated sigh and lifted his coat sleeve to reveal a heretofore unseen Vortex Manipulator. He pressed the button and moments later, found himself safely below ground in Torchwood Three. Captain Jack Harkness greeted him warmly.

“Sherlock!” He beamed, clapping him on the back. “Don’t tell me: Kirk again?”

“You know it. Thanks for the escape route.”

“Feel free to show me your gratitude later.” Jack leered. “Ianto, we have a guest!”

Ianto loudly stomped into the room with a pout, carrying a hastily put-together tea tray. “Tea, then?” he asked.

Sherlock arched an eyebrow. “Passive-aggressive much?”

Jack leaned in, confidentially. “Given your cheekbones, it’s a reasonable reaction.”

“Ah, understood.” Sherlock looked up, with a smile. “No thanks, Ianto, got to run. Much as I’d like to stay, I’m on a case.”

“Well then,” Cap’n Jack stood. “Give us a kiss before you leave then, will you?” And with that, Jack pulled Sherlock roughly to him by his coat lapels and they kissed as the camera swung around them, the room filling with the sound of Blur’s “Song 2”.

The song was so loud, in fact, that Sherlock didn’t even hear the Tardis materialize beside them, and before he knew it, he was being pulled into the big blue police box by hands that smelled faintly of fish fingers and custard.

“Need a lift?” Inside, Eleven was acting the spaz, as usual, dancing around the gears and buttons.

“Yeah, definitely, cheers, mate. Can you take me to the edge of Fandom Forest, as close to Grandmother’s House as possible?”

“Sure I can!” The Doctor moved a lever and adjusted a monitor. “I save the day, that’s what I do, you know, fly through space and time, that’s what I do!”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. “Come on, then, spit it out: say what you want to say, Doctor.”

Eleven paused, and then turned to Sherlock. “I’m just saying that I could’ve been a first-rate Watson you know…”

Sherlock patted him gently on the arm and said, “Of course you could’ve,” but didn’t really mean it.

The Tardis materialized at the far end of the forest, and The Doctor showed Sherlock out. “Say hello to your brother for me!”

“You know I will.”

 With feet solidly back on Earth, Sherlock fired up his GPS to find he was super-close to Grandmother’s House – just over the river and through the woods and he’d be there.

By the time he got to the river, he’d grown thirsty, and was helping himself to a drink when he became aware of a certain scent, wafting from farther down the riverbank. Feeling it deemed further investigation, he followed his nose and found a hobbit relaxing in the sunshine -- a hobbit who was, by Sherlock’s estimation, at least two or three bowls deep into his pipe-weed.

 “Is that Longbottom Leaf?” Sherlock asked, mostly to impress the halfling (hey - all that ash-research needed to pay off sometime, you know).

The hobbit looked up, with a grin. “Yeah, good nose. Want some?”

“Oh god, yes,” Sherlock collapsed beside him and accepted the pipe. “I’m on this mission for my brother and it’s such a drag.” He exhaled the smoke in a long, steady stream.

“I know what you’re saying. I’m on a quest to steal some treasure from a dragon. Like, how did I end up with that gig, right?”

“Well, shouldn’t you be, you know, questing right now?”

“Ah, no, mate!” See, I’m actually a little bit ahead of schedule. Hitched a ride from these two really nice guys in a 1967 Chevy Impala. They made wicked time, so I’ve just been kicking back a little and enjoying the day.”

Sherlock inhaled deeply. “You know, you look really familiar. Have we met?”

The little man wrinkled his brow. “I don’t recognize your face, but you _do_ sound familiar. Spend much time in the Shire?”

Sherlock shook his head. “Not really. Ever get down to London?”

“Not as often as I’d like…”

“Ah well, you must have one of those faces. And maybe I have one of those voices.”

“That’s probably it.”

Sherlock looked up at the night sky. “Wow, beautiful, isn’t it? So clear out tonight.”

The hobbit grinned. “That’s not the clear night sky, that’s 48 frames-per-second!”

“Oh, is that why talking to you feels like watching reality TV? I thought it was just the Longbottom Leaf.”

Sherlock sat for a while and continued to chat with the hobbit, choosing only to take his leave when the wee man started singing traditional dwarf songs.

It was time to find Grandma…

Three clicks deeper into the forest and Sherlock had found the rendezvous spot. He rapped at the door. “Grandmother, are you there?”

"Come on in, it’s open!" called a voice from within.

Sherlock let himself inside, and turned to face his contact, who seemed a little disappointed.

“Sherlock? I specifically asked for 007."

“What is it with you people? He’s not all that, you know…” Sherlock grumped.

“Yeah, tell it to Rachel Weisz,” said the contact. “Do you have the files?”

Sherlock nodded and began unbuttoning his shirt. “They’re embedded in the fabric.” ~~Buttons undone, Sherlock eased the shirt off his shoulders in slow motion and pivoted before the camera, showing off his body in a 360-degree turn that made everyone squee and shiver. Sadly, for undisclosed reasons, this shot would never make it to the final cut.~~ He took off the shirt and handed it to Grandmother, who, he realized, was staring at him in a super-creepy kind of way.

“Oi, Grandmother, you’ve got some big eyes, there, don’t you?”

“The better to see you with, Sherlock…”

Sherlock eyerolled. “Obvious.”

Grandmother ignored his comment, and walked around to the other side of the desk, sidling up behind him, invading his personal space and –

“Dude, did you just _smell_ me?” Sherlock leapt back and looked at his contact in horror.

 “Sensitive, jeez…what’s a little sniff between friends?” Grandmother shrugged. “You’ll be happy to know that you don’t have encephalitis, by the way…”

“Good to know,” said Sherlock, completely weirded out now. “Well, gotta run, Grandmother, good seeing you!”

“Aren’t you going to ask about my teeth?”

“Your teeth?” Sherlock was confused. “Why would I ask about your teeth?“

“Don’t you think I have really big teeth? Don’t you wonder why?”

Sherlock shook his head. “Hm…no, not really.”

Grandmother sighed. “Look, just say it, okay?”

“Say what?”

“Ask me why I have big teeth!”

“Look, is this some sort of, you know, sex…thing, because---

“It’s not a sex thing, it’s…” Grandmother said, with irritation. “Just humor me, okay? Then you can go.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, fine. But Mycroft’s going to pay me extra for this…” Sherlock cleared his throat and put on a fake, mocking, girlish tone. “Oh, Grandmother, you have the biggest teeth I’ve ever seen. Why do you have such bi—“

And at that, his contact ditched the Grandmother disguise, revealing himself to be none other than Dr. Hannibal Lecter, who jumped Sherlock -- and after one quick (rather unrealistic) CGI sequence, he swallowed the detective whole! At the conclusion of his meal, Hannibal dabbed at his lips with a fine linen napkin and intoned “The better to eat you with, dear Sherlock!”  

Happily, before Dr. Lecter’s digestive system could really got to work, Katniss Everdeen, leading a legion of White Walkers, “Walking Dead” zombies and a busload of rabid One Directioners, rode in on the back of My Little Pony’s Twilight Sparkle and shot an arrow right through that cannibal fucker’s eye!

Adventure Time’s Finn sliced through Lecter’s belly with his Golden Sword, releasing Sherlock -- as well as a dazed and only minimally digested Will Graham -- and everyone stopped off to have shwarma with the Avengers before returning to their respective homes, living happily ever after.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm really quite sorry...


End file.
